


Monsters In The Dark

by ActuallyQuiteOrthodox



Series: Monsters In The Dark [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Beating, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Cynicism, Death, Disfigurement, How Do I Tag, Infiltration, Kidnapping, Loss of Innocence, Manhattan, Murder, My First Fanfic, New York City, Optimism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners in Crime, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyQuiteOrthodox/pseuds/ActuallyQuiteOrthodox
Summary: "You steal from people! You murder people!""... I just say life wasn't so simple."A lack of family, the crave for freedom, and the challenges in watching out for the few people you can call friends. The obstacles of life always seem to get more difficult.Yet violence can only do so much.
Series: Monsters In The Dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620709
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. New Beginnings (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Strong depictions of violence, mentions of disfigurement, death, and worst of all? Cynicism ;)

***~***

**_December 16th, 10:21 P.M._ **

"Jorge, you got some fucking nerve." Another punch to his face was the only thing he could register, which only made the other spots of pain in his face worsen. His struggles to move here futile, the two men that held an arm each made sure of it. He did his best to not let his body go limp. "You hear me?"

There was a horrid sensation of pain all over his body. With every breath he took, it seemed as if his heart began to burn. He was on his knees and keeled over slightly As he attempted to look up to the other man, dressed in formal attire. His suit, which was always on point in appearance, was stained red at the cuffs.

That smug look was something Jorge never liked seeing, the Caucasian man always having a permanent scowl was something aggravating. Foley's blond hair, which was always in a sharp military undercut, was slightly disheveled. Jorge's eyes narrowed, defiance practically glowing from him.

"Hmph." Gathering up all of the saliva from his aching mouth, he did his best to spit a thick glob of blood onto Foley's perfect suit. His arms twisted back from the men who figured it was enough, but he made sure to bite down on his tongue to stifle a scream. "Somebody else killed 'im."

"When it was your job to do it in the first place." Any urge to resist that Jorge had was only increased when he received another hit to his face which was followed by a kick to his abdomen. "How are you so hardworking and worthless at the same time?"

His vision faded, the poorly lit room fading before coming back with the pain that threatened to shatter him. Jorge breathed heavily despite his best attempts to hide it. When he spoke, it was after a sharp gasp from the pain. "... The point?"

"The _point_ is to keep you in _line_." The last word was accentuated with a kick to Jorge's chest. For several long seconds, it felt as if he wasn't able to breathe. His eyes began to water from the lack of oxygen before it felt as if a weight was lifted. Throughout it all, the two arms on each of his own never faltered. When a hand gripped his face and moved it up, Foley's face was just inches from his own. His sharp blue eyes stared holes into him. "Do you get me, kid? Do you?!"

"..." Jorge said nothing as he glared into the older man's eyes. Defiance was the one thing Kochan couldn't take away. His voice was the one thing Kochan couldn't control. No amount of guards or beatings ever changed that. When Foley let go of his face, Jorge did his best to keep his head up and leveled as his superior spoke.

"Michael's got your next mission for you. Get him the fuck out of here, boys." It was then that the two giants known as men, clad in leather, dragged him up to his feat despite his body disapproving. At one more glance around the barren room, Jorge sent him a malicious glare as Foley smirked. "Show them what it means to be a Crimson Blossom."

The two men twisted his arms and motioned him to turn around. When he faced the opposite way, he was already being pushed out of the door and towards the hallway. He had escaped another bullet to the head that he seemed to barely dodge every time he came here. As they made him trudge down the hallway, he did his best to drag his feet as much as possible. It wasn't until he turned the corner and moved into a small lobby between the two opposing hallways that Jorge regained the focus over his senses. It was then that he heard a voice calling his name, one that made the pain worth it to hear.

"Jesus, what the fuck?!"

The two men that supported him from collapsing shoved him forward as he focused on the figure near the button to call the elevator. He stumbled forward and was sure he would've fell face-first into the wall were it not for her. Before the wall met him, he felt himself get pulled into a pair of arms instead.

"Z-Za..." The small few sounds that came from his mouth brought pain that he could never have imagined would be possible. Instead, as each rise and fall of his chest brought pain, he turned to see the two men walking away from the scene. "G-get us... Outta here."

"Of course, mi amigo." The teenager heard the familiar quiet buzz of the elevator button being pressed, something he had been so used to hearing. When he heard the doors of the elevator open, he was already being pulled inside despite the drag of his feet. "Jorge, try to lean against the wall for me."

"Mhm." It was easier said than done, he had realized that when he nearly crashed into the wall and let the back of his head rest against the wooden wall. When he felt a soft and caring hand caress his face, he moved his head to the side weakly. "'M fine. "

"You're not fine, damn it! What the hell did they do to you?" Another soft caramel hand was placed on his face that made his brown eyes look towards Zara's cornflower blue ones directly. The hispanic teenager followed her with his eyes as she scanned his face for cuts and bruises. His eyes eventually rested on her hair, which fell just below her shoulders in a small mess of dark brown locks. "I'm taking you to my place so we can get you cleaned up. You won't talk me out of this one."

"... The cuts fuckin' burn." Jorge noticed how she stood on her tiptoes to get a better view of the damage done. The way she looked intently at his face, the way her expression molded into something serious, was what he didn't like to see. For a lack of options, he supposed humor would be good there. "Least you're gettin' a good look at my face."

"Shut it, asshole." It was then that he noticed Zara realized the elevator was still, which she quickly fixed by turning halfway and pressing the button for the first floor. When she turned, probably with the intention of inspecting more of the damage, he held her hand and kept it in his grasp. "Jorge, come on, just let me look."

Jorge shook his head just as the elevator came to a halt. A moment later and the metal doors slowly opened to let them out. The first man waiting to enter jumped back when Jorge looked at him, and he saw the man's scowl turned into a disturbed look. It was Zara who grabbed his arm and dragged him along, and it was Jorge who did so without a word.

Nobody gave him anything more than a glance, nobody asked to see if he was okay, nobody asked what happened, and it was just what Jorge liked. Nobody knew his real name except for a select few, and even then there were doubts. All they knew him by was a nickname or moniker, a placeholder to fill in the blanks. It was when Zara managed to bring them outside, past the guards stationed at the door and out into the cold, that he let himself breathe.

"Do you need a minute?" He shook his head no and did his best to walk forward. When his leg buckled under him and he was caught by Zara, he heard her exasperated sigh as he winced in pain. As they began their trek towards the bench that stood quietly nearby, she whispered softly into his ear. "You don't have to lie to me."

"W-we've been through worse, right?" He didn't expect an answer, and he knew he didn't need one either. He took in a deep breath, one that seemed to sting his insides, and let it go with just as much pain. "Cuts and bruises ain't gonna stop me."

The biting cold of the wind was absolutely atrocious for his cuts, as if the freezing temperatures were making them burn even more and caused the sensation to spread. Jorge did his best attempt to sit up before he felt a familiar fabric wrapping around his neck.

"You dropped this in the elevator." As the black bandana covered his neck, Jorge smiled gratefully at her. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the week. "You always did need me to help save your ass, Brooklyn."

"... Thanks." Zara smiled at him with a toothy grin which lasted for all of one moment before she slowly put a hand to put over her mouth. He ignored it this once and instead thought of how ridiculous it seemed to be shot at because of a tattoo on his neck. "I mean it."

He could tell Zara wanted to tell him something else. After three years of working together, it was easy to notice anything that bubbled under the surface. On the other hand, it was frustrating to no end that she could see right through him. After one more uncomfortable shift, Jorge decided to speak up.

"What is it, Zara?" For several moments, he thought that she wasn't going to reply. Instead, she turned to look directly at him. Moving his head to look back, he saw the anger hiding in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You worry me every time we come here. You worry me so badly." Zara clenched her fists and looked away for a moment, and Jorge did his best to comfort her with a hand on her leg. "I don't want to be afraid that you may not come out."

There was a small pause then, and Jorge was slightly frustrated that he didn't entirely know what to say to his closest friend. Lacking any other form of comfort, Jorge did his best to envelop her in a hug. Her head leaned into his chest as she spoke softly.

"I care about you, Jorge." Said person rested his chin on her head gently, the embrace warming both of them. After looking around and finding no observers, he slowly shut his eyes and gave a small sigh.

"You shouldn't." Jorge didn't need to have his eyes opened to know that she frowned at the comment. Anything he said that was remotely negative was often gifted a scowl from her face. "It's easier when you don't care at all."

"I care about you too much already." Her voice was soft and sounded too sad for him to be comfortable with it. He never could stand her scrutinization, because it was almost always filled with sadness and disappointment instead of anger.

"I know." There was no movement between the two of them. For a small moment, he almost wished they could stay like that. But, as he slowly opened his eyes and the snowy world once again came into view, Jorge realized there was no point in wasting time on thoughts like that. "Let's get do the car."

Zara stood up before turning and offering a hand to him, which he gratefully took as a sharp pain stabbed his side right under his armpit. He kept his face neutral as he let out a breath before keeping his hold on her hand and followed her lead.

"Don't slip~"

"Whatever."

Each step taken towards the group of parked cars was nothing short of physical torture. The teenager did his best to keep up with her, which resulted in him only putting himself through greater pain. He was only steps away from the passenger seat when Zara let his hand go to open the door. It was then that Jorge stumbled forward and had his left side hit the back door of the car. The groan of pain he wheezed out was accompanied by the taste of blood as he kept his head down to avoid Zara's look.

"Jorge! Ay dios, you have to tell me when you're not okay!" She moved towards him, but Jorge raised a hand to stop her from coming any closer than she already was.

"Just... Unlock the doors." He saw her boots in the snow stand still for several long moments, the harsh winds blowing the snow through the air. After several moments, he saw her feet move back and face towards the passenger door. When he heard the passenger door open, he looked up to see Zara standing there and looking towards him. "T-thanks."

"Just... Can you get in by yourself?" Jorge nodded as he moved to stand straight. He kept his left hand on the top of the car and moved towards her. When he was close enough, he moved into the car and sat down. As the door closed after he entered, Jorge let out a heavy as the lack of movement caused the pain to settle and rest as much as he tried to as well.

Once Zara hopped inside of the Integra and they both buckled up, the teenage girl put the key in the ignition and revved the car to life and began to warm it up. He saw her head turn to face him from the corner of his eye.

"You staying at my place for the night after I bandage you up?" Jorge stayed silent at the idea as he grabbed the handle on the side of the passenger seat to lean the seat back. "I won't bite, Brooklyn, promise."

"It'd be easier to stay at my own place." When Zara looked forward without responding, he looked towards the teenage girl and raised a brow. "You wanted to share a bed or somethin'?"

"As if. You smell like a used tampon." After minutes of watching the snow slowly cover the windshield, Zara turned on the wipers as the pair began to move out of the parking lot and onto the snowy roads.

**~*~**

The ride there was silent, something Jorge found himself thankful for, and went by with no chatter between the two of them. Within no time, Jorge was already struggling to stay awake. Forcing the seat upright again, the teenage boy let out a heavy sigh.

"We're takin' a left on Saint Nicholas, right?" Zara gave him a nod, turning on her blinker as she caught a red light.

"Thanks for remindin' me where I live." The sarcasm wasn't unwelcome, and Jorge found her tone incredibly amusing. "Hell, why don't you tell me what a stop sign is?"

"Are you stupid or are you dumb?" Zara smiled at the jab, happy that he was playing around. She always knew what to say to help Jorge out of his moods.

"Spell dumb for me." Zara smiled when Jorge sucked his teeth with a playful scowl.

"Fuck me, you're difficult." Jorge turned to see Zara mock disbelief with a hand to her chest, the other turning the wheel to move the car into Saint Nicholas.

"Jorge, that is inappropriate. Why would you ever say such a thing to me?" Said person was half-tempted to begin tuning her out until he noticed her giggle, which almost made all of the back and forth worth it. "Alright, I've had my fun. We're here, anyways."

The car slowed as Zara slid into an empty spot directly in front of the apartment complex. As she put the car into park and shut it off, Jorge opened the door and stepped out. Wincing at the pain in his leg, Jorge turned to see Zara hop out of her car and lock her doors. Ignoring the flow of people, the pair made their way through and went inside.

Jorge lead the way up the steps and to the second floor, before walking past several doors and up another flight. Doing his best to ignore the protests of his body, the teenager stopped to look at the familiar numbers.

304\. How long had it been?

"I don't think Corolla is home, which is good. Less explaining for me." Jorge stepped out of his friend's path, before fishing keys out of her pocket. Putting the key into the keyhole, Zara twisted it and opened the door before turning on the lights to the kitchen and living room.

It was exactly like how he remembered it, the small kitchen immediately to the left as soon as he stepped inside after her. The living room was straight ahead of him, the tile floor ending as a rug took its place. The doors to the bedrooms and bathroom were still off to the right, and Jorge was happy to see everything almost identical to when he left.

Closing the door behind him and locking it, Jorge walked over towards Zara as she took off her coat in the living room to reveal the black sweater underneath. Setting the coat onto a chair in the corner and shoes next to it, she walked over towards him and entered the bathroom. Probably to get the first aid kit, Jorge figured.

Taking off his pea coat, which had definitely seen better days, Jorge folded it and set it on the floor next to the door to avoid spreading the smell of blood in Zara's place. Walking into the living room was something he never expected to do again in a long time.

"On the couch, sit." Zara abruptly walked passed him with the soft patter of her footsteps, carrying balls of cotton and hydrogen peroxide, and Jorge followed after the teenage girl.

"You think after a few months, this place would look different." Zara shook her head at Jorge's comment as Jorge sat on the end of the couch. Putting his right arm into the armrest, he looked to her. "No new furniture, same pictures, everythin'."

"After you left, there wasn't a need to change anything. Why would there be?" She was bitter about his departure from her home, but she could never really blame him. "Now hold still while I disinfect your cuts."

"It wasn't my choice, Zara." He caught onto her tone, just like he always did. He was almost sure that Zara knew it pissed him off. "You act as if I wanted that."

"Can you blame me? You didn't put up much of a fight when they took you out of here." She used a cotton ball practically soaking in hydrogen peroxide, and took it to his face. Ignoring the hisses of pain from her friend, she continued. "It's whatever."

"No, it's complicated." Wincing slightly at the burning, Jorge knew she was doing this on purpose. It was a way to get back at him, he supposed, and he always let it happen. "Alright, that's enough."

Zara looked his face over, before sending him a look and continuing for a minute longer. Once she was satisfied, or as much as she could be while looking at his heavily cut and bruised face. The teenage girl seemed ready to put the stuff back, before she seemed to have realization dawn on her.

"Lift up your shirt." Jorge nearly groaned at the request, his attempt avoid this failing. Doing as she asked, Zara flinched at the sight of more cuts and several overwhelmingly large bruises. Repeating the process for the cuts, which was more painful for Jorge this time around, she finished in record time. She grabbed the items and retreated back into the bathroom quickly.

It felt like a mistake, agreeing to come back to her place. The tension every time he set foot in this place was a little too great for him. Before he could think about an abrupt departure, Zara returned moments later with a softer look to her face.

She was struggling as much as Jorge was with this. There was little she could think about conversing with him. This seemed so natural before, why was it so difficult now? With a lack of options, she pointed to her feet.

"Like my socks?" Jorge looked down and stared at them for a moment. One was black with purple highlights at the cuff and toe, while the other was a light grey with blue polka dots. 

Looking back up to meet her desperately goofy grin, it was hard to not crack a smile. Shaking his head, the boy shrugged his shoulders. A dramatically pouty expression from Zara almost made him laugh.

"I just want to relax. Could we do that?" He appreciated the thought of Zara attempting to lighten the mood, he really did. However, Jorge truly did want some rest before he had to walk home in the cold. "Just for a bit?"

"Fine. But you're my pillow, got it?"

"Hmph."

With that exchange dealt with, Zara went over to turn the kitchen light off before she quickly took her position onto the couch. Laying across most of it, she bent her knees and assumed a fetal position. She rested her head against Jorge's side, curling her arms around him and shutting her eyes to the rise and fall of his chest.

This was certainly a predicament for the boy, as he was sure there would be no escaping from this one without facing Zara on his way out. Not physically, but verbally as a guarantee. He sure as hell didn't want that, and could make things more tense than what it already was. Letting himself relax, he shut his eyes and decided to roll with it.

***~*~***

Zara couldn't sleep. As the soft breathing of her friend reached her ears, the girl let out a sigh. It was a pretty rough day, and the last thing she wanted was trouble sleeping. As she lifted her head from him, her head snapped to attention at the door handle shaking.

Getting up quickly, Zara went over to the door and looked into the peephole. She let out a sigh of relief, but panic also hit when she saw her sister putting the key into the locked doorknob. If it was any other time, she would've laughed at the snowflakes matting over her sister's long black hair.

She hoed that her sister wouldn't get mad this time...

Zara opened the door for her older sister, who jumped in surprise at the sudden motion as the key fell onto the floor while she gripped the bags she had with her. Zara was quick to pick it up as her older sister turned on the lights.

"Do you love to scare the shit out of me, Zar? Jesus." The younger sibling handed her sister the keys, before looking at the bags she carried. 

"What's, uh... In the bags, Corolla?" It was a terrible facade at being calm, she knew that. The older sibling raised an eyebrow, before moving over towards the kitchen. As Corolla flipped on the lights, Zara winced at the sight of Jorge on the couch.

"Groceries. Sorry for leaving you alone most of the day." Zara nodded, despite Corolla not facing towards her. Maybe she could catch Corolla in a good mood? She doubted it, but was certainly willing to try. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Zara stepped closer to her sister, wiping off some of the snow that matted Corolla's coat. As her older sister took several canned and frozen foods out of the bags, Zara flinched when her older sibling looked directly past her.

"What about him?"

There was silence as Corolla opened the freezer, starting to put away meat. Zara almost thought she imagined the sentence, and was at a loss for what to say. With a lack of brain power, she decided on something simple.

"You're... Fine with him being here?" Corolla let out a sigh, and Zara knew what it meant. It was frustration, or maybe Corolla was just tired after a long day. As she looked towards her friend, Zara wished she could tell for sure. "It didn't seem that you were happy with that."

"Zara, listen." She looked back towards her older sister, everything sans a few cans already put away. "I was fucking pissed that he left, alright?"

"But it wasn't his choice! I was angry too, but I saw that he meant it. It made me feel horrible."

"That snot-nosed asshole was a pain. We couldn't even talk shit about him in Spanish because he understood. But... He felt like family, after a while." Zara always knew that, but it was good to hear. This time, Corolla looked away as she took off her coat. Moving to hang it up near the door, Zara stopped leaning against the kitchen sink. "That fucker's like my little brother."

"Language, Corolla." Zara caught the roll of her eyes, before she looked over with a smirk.

"You the swear police, bitch?" Feigning shock, Zara moved to follow Corolla to her room. As her older sibling turned on the light switch, Zara stepped into the plain room. 

"You could at least put up some more picture frames..." Zara got the finger as her only response, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall as Corolla took off her shoes and sat on her bed. "Actually, you could start with something other than plain white bedsheets."

"Guess what, fucker? I'm the older one, so I don't have to do shit that you say." Zara laughed at that. Damn, it was good to see her sister at the end of each day. She saw now as the time to strike.

"So Jorge coming over is fine?" She couldn't have missed Corolla's eye roll if she tried to ignore it, and she certainly did try.

"I'm not that mad at him anymore, so... Fine." Zara couldn't help but hug her sister, a smile forming on her face as Corolla hugged her just as tightly. "Don't tell him I said that. Gotta cause that asshole some trouble."

"Thanks, Corolla." With that, the embrace ended. "Do you... Ever miss it? Being in Puerto Rico?"

Silence comes between them for a small amount of time. The only thing that remains in the emptiness is the love and experience tying them together. Nothing was said for a few moments, and in that small amount of time, it's fitting.

"No, I guess I don't..." Zara nodded, making her way towards the door. Maybe she could get some sleep with her mind at ease? "I'm happy with you."

Zara left then, thoughts running quickly through her mind. That was something she could think on.

***~***

Jorge shot his eyes open as soon as he woke up, and the darkness of the area immediately put him on edge. It was only when he felt the added weight on his side and looked at the shining red characters of the clock that he relaxed and pieced together that he was, indeed, safe. He narrowed his eyes as they adjusted to the lack of light and, in a soft motion, turned to face the sleeping Zara as she held his left arm in her grasp.

With a soft shake of his head, he slowly removed the borrowed appendage from her hands and moved to stand. He turned to look at the digital clock, which sat silently in the corner of the room with red numbers and letters glaring at him in the dark.

_12:43 A.M._

It hadn't even been three hours, but a new day might as well have already started. Even as Jorge slowly made his way towards the door, getting there by memory of the path, he knew it was going to be a long night. He fumbled in the darkness with his boot under he made contact with what was likely his coat, and bent down to grab it.

When a pair of hands grabbed his hips and pulled him backwards just as he grabbed his coat, he nearly let out a sigh as his ass made contact with a female crotch. He heard her speak in a near-lusting whisper."Oh yeah, baby! Back it up!"

"Cut that shit out!" His harsh whisper was just enough to get the point across without waking Zara. Jorge yanked himself away from the pair of hands and quickly moved to stand, a heat in his cheeks being hidden by the darkness that remained in the apartment. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Jorge put on his coat as he tugged at the bandana around his neck to make sure it was still there and secure. After a few moments, he moved to open the door. Light flooded inside, but he only cracked it open before he slipped out. To his misfortune, Corolla followed him out and shut the door behind them. "Funny, considering you were the one in my apartment. But I guess I'm the bad guy for doing a little joke."

Jorge didn't look her way immediately, and only did so after letting out a sigh as he shoved his hands in his pockets. When he turned to the left to face her, he looked down slightly to meet the harsh gaze that came from her blue eyes. "... You're annoyin'."

"And you're stupid." The remark came without missing a beat, and Jorge knew she would've said that to any insult he gave her. "A stupid home invader."

"I'm not a fuckin'-" Jorge shut his eyes, took a deep breath in, let it out, then opened them to see her cheeky smile. With a harsh scowl, he made sure to keep his voice down. "Stop callin' me that."

"You have a shorter temper towards me than you usually do." When Jorge kept his scowl in place, it was her turn to sigh. He watched as she took on a more somber look and hit her lip. After a few seconds of silence, just as he was ready to turn and make his way out of the apartment building, she spoke. "... I guess I've been acting a little unfair."

Jorge let out a scoff. As if she needed to tell him any of that. He realized long ago that she wasn't his biggest fan, and he made it clear that it was the same the other way around. "Whatever you say, Corolla. Now will you let me start headin' home?"

"... You're still my little brother, Jorge. Even if you aren't actually my little brother." All at once, the anger that he attempted to keep planted in his heart was knocked out of him. No matter how much he wanted to stay angry at her... He couldn't. Because she was one of the only ones he could consider family. He looked towards her as she stood there, almost awkwardly, and did her best to stay at the door instead of reaching out to him. "I hope you know nothing was ever going to change that."

"..." Jorge stayed silent as Corolla snuck her way back inside of her apartment and shut the door softly behind her. He stayed in one spot for a few more seconds before looking down the hall. "I know."

**~*~**

The walk back from Zara's apartment to his own was always a tedious one, and one that always left him alone with his thoughts. Some of those thoughts were good, some were bad, and some were ones that he wanted to forget. So instead of delving into his own mind, he stayed focused on what was ahead of him. He focused on the snow that blew in the wind. He focused on how many steps it took to get home.

The Crimson Blossom was on step nine hundred and twelve when a man practically leaped from an alleyway and stood in the middle of the sidewalk as he faced the road. A select few from the small crowd he interrupted screamed, but nearly all of them began to run in scattering directions from the man dressed in all black clothing. His hoodie stopped the gang member from getting a good look at him aside from the long, thick strands of dirty blond hair that escaped. It was when the teenager saw the metallic sheen of what had to be a gun that he was set on high alert.

With a wary gaze, Jorge slowed to a stop. When he reached for his internal holster and found it empty, he knew the best approach was to be as discreet as possible. He casually moved to sit down on a nearby set of stairs leading into an apartment building. When he did just that, he positioned himself as close to the stone railings as he could. When enough of his body was out of immediate view, his brain moved to put any pieces together. The lack of a visible tattoo only put him on edge further. The wind picked up speed, but he could still hear the roar from the engine of a speeding car as clear as day. He saw the man move to raise the gun, and Jorge instinctively reached for his own that was holstered within his coat.

When the car was finally in view, distinct sound of three shots being let out nearly made Jorge jump as the car tried to move even faster. Instead of a successful evasion, Jorge was shocked to see that a tire had been popped from one of them. Jorge knew what was going to happen next, but it didn't help the amount of surprise that he felt. Despite the darkness, he could still see the amount of people on the opposite sidewalk who all tried to run for their lives.

Horror gnawed at his core when he heard the screams, and it was only heightened when the car drifted just twenty feet past him and onto the sidewalk. Jorge counted six people who were all hit by the car as it hit another parked car and toppled over. It finally stopped when it hit the stairs of an apartment building, and remained upside down to expose the underbelly of the car.

If the few people near the scene weren't running before, they were running now. Only a select few, partners or acquaintances to those who were hit, stayed. He glanced over to the man that caused it, and stayed low when he saw the shooter move quickly sprint across the street and towards the wreck. The wind picked up once again, muffling the screams and sounds of panic that were carried into the wind. Even if he had his gun, there was no telling if he was a fellow Crimson. There were chances that he, unfortunately, just couldn't take.

It was then that Jorge slowly stood and moved down the steps to get a better look at what was happening. Several people took off running at the sight of the shooter, leaving their crippled or dead partners behind, while others stayed. When he saw one of the doors from the toppled wreck fly open, his eyes eyes widened. A man came crawling out through the shards of glass and metal, but wasn't even given the chance to stand before the shooter opened fire once again. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes at that moment.

Then, without anything else being done, the man sprinted towards the nearest alley and left his view. Jorge stood quietly, hands clenched and sweaty, and waited for anything else. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before his legs had begun to move him closer towards it, but the feeling of dread made his stomach churn and his skin crawl. Despite all the death and violence he had seen, there was always an echo of discomfort when it happened without warning.

Jorge moved fast when crossing the street, but slowed down when he reached the opposite sidewalk. He could hear the cries more easily, and could see the death that surrounded him. Some bodies were positioned at awkward angles, blood seeping from them as bones came out of places they shouldn't have been. Others were luckier, be it only a broken leg or a twisted arm. Some unlucky souls were struck by the car and were left alive to wallow in their pain, and one person in particular was partially stuck under the car and flattened. But throughout it all, Jorge could practically feel all of the loss that surrounded him in a torrent of despair and misfortune.

When he stood over the man that crashed the car, he had expected him to be lifeless as well. Instead, the man reached out a hand and grabbed Jorge's left boot. He didn't move away, but made no move to help him. "H-help m-m..."

As his voice died down, Jorge looked focused on what the damage dealt was. The amount of red that seeped into the snow was abundant, and he knew that whatever was hit by that bullet must've been important. Even if he was inclined to help, there was no point. 

"... Sorry, buddy. I dunno what got you here in the first place, so I'm stayin' out of it." Jorge moved to take a step back, but stopped when the man looked up at him. Blood streamed from his mouth as his eyes were wide open. The man moved his other hand to point at the totaled car. "... Somebody's in the car, aren't they?"

"C-Caleb." The stranger nodded along quickly, a panicked look still in the eyes that bore holes into him as he struggled to speak coherently. "... Ple-please. T-take care o-of h-!"

"Not my problem, old man." Jorge bent down one knee to kneel, which nearly made him shiver from the contact with the snow that seeped past his clothing. The fear that was in his eyes, even with the teenager trying to block out his emotions, was too much for him to ignore for much longer. He knew what it felt like to be there, as much as he wanted to forget it. "... But I can put him somewhere that he will be."

A look of relief washed over his face, one that Jorge knew painfully well was based on a lie. Seconds passed before the look of relief turned into something cold and empty. When his head dropped into the snow with a soft thud, the Crimson Blossom knew he wasn't getting up again. He wished there was more he could do, but it just wasn't his problem. He'd do what he said he would and be done with it.

Police sirens brought him out of his thoughts in an instant. Hearing them didn't give him a sense of security or safety like it did to a regular person. Because a regular person didn't know just how many times they were paid to help the bad guys there were supposed to keep them safe from. The amount of times he witnessed it was too great. Those sirens didn't help anything, and neither did the people that hid behind the noises they made.

It was a race against time.

Without a single word, Jorge quickly went to work. He quickly shifted over towards the back door of the car, minding the shattered glass all over, and swung it open. He spotted his target hanging upside-down from his seat due to the seatbelt that likely saved his life, and quickly entered on his knees to enter the tight crawl space. He patted him down for weapons in case his unlucky damsel in distress awoke and tried to kill him. It was easy enough to unbuckle him from the seat after he didn't find a thing, and he dropped immediately into one of Jorge's waiting arms.

The wind blew violently.

The noise of sirens grew louder.

There was no time to check him over, as Jorge heard the sirens getting louder despite the harsh winds. He dragged the dark-skinned boy out of the wreck as fast as he could, quickly got to his feet, and hoisted up the boy in a fireman carry. As the sirens neared, Jorge prepared to bolt to the opposite side of the street to avoid the shooter. He moved one foot forward before he was stopped by a voice calling out.

The wind slowed down.

Yet the sirens still came closer.

"Please!" Jorge froze in place as the voice caused a cold shiver to run down his spine. The hairs that didn't already stand on end practically shot up as he quickly turned on his heel. When he saw a woman holding a small form in her arms, something told him to look away. Instead, knowing he was an idiot for it, he looked on. "Please! P-please, just help my daughter!"

The wind picked up once more.

The noise of the sirens were getting clearer.

Jorge looked on, examining what had happened. From the angles that her legs were twisted at, it was obvious that she had protected her little girl from the impact and received two broken legs in the process. Despite wanting to keep his mouth shut, he spoke. "Lady, look. I'm not gonna carry three-!"

"Nonono, please, just take her! She knows the address to her father's house, she can get you there!" Jorge remained silent, but the sirens began to roar even louder than they were before. He was running out of time, and he knew he needed to make a decision. Unfortunately, he knew his mind was made up long ago. He took a few steps away from the pleading mother, her brown eyes locking with his own. "No! N-no, no, no! Please! You _have_ to help her!"

The sirens... They had stopped.

They were close.

Jorge looked at the unconscious girl in the woman's arms once more and felt his breath growing short. He felt the shame bite into his core, but he did his best to ignore it completely. It wasn't working. "... Sorry, lady."

Jorge could see the blinking red and blue lights as the cop cars finally came into view. If the snow wasn't as heavy as it was, Jorge was sure that would've been it for them. But, by the grace of any deity that existed, he sprinted across the street and into the nearest alley without saying a word to the woman. The woman who sat crying with two broken legs and her daughter, blissfully unaware of what was most likely going to happen.

He didn't look back.

**~*~**

The little amount of energy he had was finally spent when he managed to unlock his door. He pushed the flat piece of wood forward and entered with heavy steps. Without closing the door behind him, the teenager moved turned on the living room light with a flip of the switch and moved to plop down the boy into the recliner that sat against the wall and facing towards the right. The impact of the worn leather was enough to get the kid grumbling in his daze, but he ignored it in favor of going back to the entrance of his apartment. As he pulled out the key before shutting and locking the door, he heard soft mumbling from behind him. Jorge turned to look at "Caleb" with a tired expression, and let out a deep sigh before once again moving to take a closer look at him.

Small cuts littered his almond skin, but there wasn't much else. His nappy black hair stood more uneven then it probably normally looked, but the kid was fine from what he could see. He was lucky to take almost nothing in that crash. With a pounding headache now attacking his body, Jorge did the most logical thing. He moved to the only other piece of furniture in his living room, a worn leather sofa, and dropped himself into it. With another glance towards the kid, the already hectic thoughts in his mind raced even faster.

... What had he gotten himself into?

It all happened so fast, so quickly, that Jorge couldn't even take the time to think. He wasn't sure what it was that made him do it, but he knew that it could've gotten him killed. He didn't owe the kid or his pops a damn thing, and he was stupid for even feeling slightly otherwise. Because of his stupidity, because of his humanity, he ended up with more than he ever bargained for. There was-

**"AAAAAAAAAHHHH!"**

The teenager sprang to his feet in an instant as a wave of shock washed over him and gripped his heart. With wide eyes, Jorge looked on for several moments to see the kid practically jump out of the recliner and hit the floor with a loud thump. When his screaming and flailing continued, the teenager quickly launched into action. "Hey! Kid!"

"No! Nononono-! _Dad_!" Jorge took a step forward, only to have a leg collide with his shin in a wild movement of body parts. He took a step back, wincing at the aftermath of the impact. "Daaaad! Da-dad! I-!"

"Agh, fuckin' hell! Hey!" Jorge stood at a distance as he watched his entire body quake, as if the cold outside had reached him once again. It was from fear, Jorge could see it almost immediately as soon as the kid looked him in the eye. "... Kid."

"W-where's my dad?!" The gang member opened his mouth to respond, but there was only a split second before he started talking in a soft yet panicked voice. Slowly, as he sat on Jorge's rug, he began to scoot away from him. "W-where a-am I? Who are you?!

"You gotta relax." A neutral voice didn't help like Jorge thought it would, but it didn't seem to make things worse. As the teenager stood in place, his not-hostage only continued to move backwards until contact with the couch stopped his movements. "Keep up the volume and we're both gonna get it."

"I-I... S-sorry." The look the kid gave him was nothing short of pure sincerity. He was quick to apologize and seemingly quick to feel guilty. Jorge knew he could use that to his advantage, and kept it as a mental note in case that weakness was needed.

"Just watch it, kid." As soon as he said the short sentence, the kid was already hanging his head in shame. With a huff of air, he continued. "Last thing I need is a noise complaint."

"S-sorry."

"No point in repeatin' yourself, kid."

"... What's your n-name?" His soft voice made Jorge take another deep breath. As much as he wanted to be, Jorge couldn't really be mad. He guessed he just didn't have the energy for it.

"... Jorge. And you're Caleb, right?" The boy looked shocked, as if him knowing his name was something he thought was impossible. It should've been impossible, but he supposed life still wanted to fuck with him.

"Y-yes. How do you know?" Wide eyes, clenched fists, nothing but a bundle of nerves. He hated just how familiar it all looked.

"Your pops told me." Caleb looked him in the eyes, no less fear in the brown orbs than there were alongside something new. It was something that was brewing, soft yet firm. The kid had spirit, and it was something he could envy the boy for. "He told me to get you outta there. You remember what happened, right?"

"..." Caleb didn't speak, only nodded along as he looked down towards his shoes. Jorge moved from his position at the center of the living room and instead put his back against the wall between the couch at his left and the recliner at his right. With crossed arms, he raised a brow and waited for a verbal response. "W-where is he? W-where's my dad?"

"He..." There was no easy way to say it, especially to a child, but Jorge always figured being direct was the best approach. He spoke before any doubts could shroud his judgement as he looked towards the window behind the couch. "He's dead."

Silence.

It was heavy, thick, and Jorge was sure he could've cut the tension with his knife. The snow went rampant as it was blown around by the snow, and he was sure that was what the kid's mind had looked like at that moment. After nothing but more silence, Jorge looked over towards Caleb once again. There was nothing except a disbelief so firmly planted across his face that Jorge was sure the Kid thought he was dreaming.

"... W-what?" His voice was so quiet that, were it not for the movement of his mouth, the teenager was unsure if he would've believed anything was said. "What did you say?"

"The old man is gone, kid. He left the station." Jorge waited for anything to be said, but the silence stretched out further. When he looked carefully, he could see the quiver in the boy's bottom lip as clear as day. He strengthened his crumbling resolve with a glare aimed at himself. "But he said to help you, so that's what I'm doin'."

"P-please... Please no. N-not my dad too." Despite hoping for anything else to happen, a small sob escaped the the younger male's throat. It was short and choked, as if he tried to hold it back and failed. "N-not him. _Please!_ "

"... Kid, c'mon. Hold it together." The choked sobs turned into full ones as he wiped at his eyes to keep the tears off of his face. He curled his knees into his chest as Jorge stood up from his leaning position against the wall. "I gotta get you back to your family. I need you to help me with that."

"You're lying! You have to be! Where's my dad?!" There was only so much he could say to convince him otherwise. He mustered up everything he had and began to speak. "I'm g-gonna get t-the police!"

"Be my guest. They'll kill you too."

"L-liar!"

"You don't have to believe me."

"I don't! W-where's my dad?!"

"He got stabbed by a piece of metal in the crash, kid." Jorge gave him what he thought was best to hear. If things made sense and there was nothing to question, then Jorge prayed that he wouldn't. There was no reason to tell him anything about his father's real murder. It would only complicate things. "He died right after he told me to help you. He told me to get you to your other family."

"B-b-but I d-don't know a-anybody else!" He looked up at Jorge, which was the last thing that the gang member wanted to happen. A crying child, desperate for anything but reality, was all too similar. He didn't like that. "D-dad always told me we were alone in New York!"

... Caleb was alone.

The weight of that realization nearly crushed him as his legs felt as if they would almost turn to jelly. Jorge moved to sit in the recliner next to him, his thoughts crashing down on him as he thought of what to do.

"You mean you're all alone here, kid?" As the question only made the boy cry harder, Jorge hoped with all of his might that he would give an answer other than what they both knew was real. "Kid."

"Y-y-yes."

The kid had nobody in the Rotten Apple to look after him. All at once did the reality of the situation finally settle itself in his mind, and it brought a reality that he wasn't satisfied with. There was only so little Jorge could do with him. Abandoning him was something the teenager wanted to avoid, and he knew foster homes were barely any better. Anything else was either too cruel or too unreasonable to actually pull off.

"That ain't good, kid." It was something he figured they both already knew, and the kid's face only solidified that thought. It was a harsh reality that Jorge knew people faced every day. There was nothing he could do about it.

"Maybe..." He was beating around the bush. Whatever the kid was going to say, Jorge knew it'd be something bad. It was only confirmed when the kid gave a near-helpless shrug of his shoulders and heaved a sigh. " Maybe I can stay with you?"

His response was immediate. "No."

"B-but I don't have anyone else!" Jorge crossed his arms and couldn't help the scowl that formed on his face once again. The kid was naive, stupid, and so terribly desperate. Yet Jorge couldn't blame him. "What else can I do?!"

"So you're trustin' me? A stranger that helped you a tiny bit?" Jorge moved closer to him, broadening his shoulders and attempting to make himself seem as intimidating as possible. The quick dart of the kid's eyes from left to right showed him clear as day that it worked. When they were only feet apart, he stopped his approach and peered down at him. "You don't know me, kid. I could fill you fulla lead. I could kill ya."

"... B-but you won't." Jorge raised a brow as he continued to tower over the boy sitting on the floor. They stared at each other directly, and he was sure it was the first time that panic wasn't the main emotion visible on the kid's face. It was a decent change. "I know you w-won't."

"And why is that?"

"Because you aren't a bad person."

Jorge nearly took a step back at the firm declaration. The fearful look remained, but there was something else that danced in those soft brown orbs that he recognized well. It stayed put, unmoved, even as the doubt spread across his own face. He took a step back, fists clenched.

"You don't know shit about me."

"I know t-that you helped me."

"And look where that got ya."

"... S-somewhere safe."

He scowled, one filled with irritation rather than anger at the kid who continued to sit. Had it been anyone else, the kid wouldn't have gotten away with placing so much faith in a stranger. The amount of things that could've happened to him all seemed to lead down the same road. Right towards his death.

Jorge crossed his arms, a face of exasperation no doubt on his features. He had half a mind to take a seat on the couch, but he preferred the vicinity that was being maintained without a word towards it. Instead, the teenager took refuge by putting his back against the wall once more.

"You aren't safe with me, kid." It wasn't an opinion, or something made to scare him off. The worst part about it was that it was just the truth, and something that he'd never be able to change. The real danger was in just how true those words were, and how bitter the words tasted when he spoke them. "Thinkin' otherwise is gonna leave you needin' a pallbearer."

"Are you lying to me?" Jorge did his best to give him a look to make it clear that what he said was no joking matter. "I... I just don't know what to do."

... Neither did he.

"I do. Sleep."

"You want me to sleep?" The disbelieving tone was a welcome change compared to the mouse-like speech that the kid had seemed to be stuck at. It was when he started to stand that Jorge slowly put his tensed hands at his sides in preparation for an attack. "How am I supposed to just sleep something like _this_ off?!"

"It's what I used to do."

"Well I'm not doing it!" The kid stomped a foot on the ground, his features turning into a scowl that seemed to bark more than bite. "I-I can't!"

"I don't give a shit what you do." The teenager eased his stance and, slowly, relaxed his tightened fists. When Caleb let out a heavy huff of air with a frustrated look, he knew the kid wasn't gonna lay a finger on him. "Sit back down and cry for all I care."

"B-But... There has to be something we can do." Jorge looked away from him and towards chipped paint along the wall towards his left. He was sure the kid would've thought it owed him money from the way his eyes were narrowed in on it. "A-anything... I'll do anything."

"..."

The silence that followed was only filled in with the loud cries of the wind outside, which carried the snowflakes of winter off into the uncaring night with the uncaring people of the uncaring world. For a bliss second, Jorge shut his eyes and took a small breath. He knew that if he was laying down, he would've given into his urge to sleep.

"I-I... I'm just a kid." Jorge wished the world cared about that. Rather than speaking his prayers to a God that always seemed to put him through too much, he focused on what he saw in front of him. He'd meet his maker one of these days.

"... How old are you?" The kid, Caleb, he reminds himself, takes a heavy breath.

"F-Fourteen." Fourteen years on this Earth, and he had already lost more than Jorge knew anybody should. But the world wouldn't stop to cry for him, and neither would he. After a few nasty sniffles, the fourteen-year-old asks a question in return. "What about you?"

Jorge turned his head to look at him. "... Seventeen."

"Seventeen?!" The kid looks at him in disbelief, as if he would've never expected that answer. "Y-you're barely older than me!"

"Three years is a decent fuckin' gap."

"Are you lying to me?" Jorge raised a brow at Caleb's skeptical look. There was something he was missing here, a pattern he couldn't solve just yet. While there would've been no reason to trust a stranger, he could tell there was a lack of trust from past issues. "There's no way you can be seventeen and look so old."

"It ain't age, kid." Being trained to take punishment, being beaten whenever someone else got the chance to get away with it, being torn from most of what he had, that's what it was. "I'm just tired."

"Oh... I-I'm sorry you did this for my dad." Jorge shrugged. There was nothing he could do to take back any decisions he's made. He couldn't turn back time, only follow along as it lead him closer towards the end. "Seriously. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, kid." The Crimson Blossom moved to take off his leather coat, the heat of the apartment finally catching up to him. As he hung it from his arm, he looked back towards the window. "'Cause sorry don't get us nowhere."

"Oh..." When the kid actually bothered to look around the room just to avoid looking at him, he saw the kid's eyes home in on one of the few decorations he had in his apartment; a picture frame. With a look towards me, the question was practically written on his face. "... C-can I?"

The older teenager shrugged as he turned left to enter his room. Passing through the door on his right, he was met with a barely-lit room that looked exactly the same as it did earlier today. Jorge was quick to set down his leather jacket on his bed with a soft thump, and he did as he usually did on a night similar to those he just went through. He removed the sweater from his body in one quick motion, and the white muscle shirt that had giant pools of crimson followed right after. It reeked of copper.

As he tossed then on the floor right in front of him, he moved over to his closer towards the left of the room's entrance. With a quick slide of the wooden door that hid his clothes, he wasn't picky when he grabbed a random black shirt off of a hanger to quickly throw it on. When he was sure he put it on the right way despite the lack of light, he reached for one of the extra blankets up above his clothing on a higher shelf.

When he left the room, it was with a soft but thick folded black blanket in his hands. He stopped when he turned and entered his pitifully small living room to see Caleb holding a picture frame in his hands. The teenager was quiet when he moved to put the blanket on the couch. "... Is this your family?"

Jorge stopped as he kept his back towards the kid. He licked his lips before letting out a small sigh. With a quick one-eighty, Jorge walked up next to him to stand at the younger teenager's side. For a moment, as Jorge gazed at the picture, he almost felt as if he was back at that firework display on the fourth of July. He could almost feel the weight of a hand on his left shoulder, his other shoulder bumping into Zara's as she had a hand on her opposite shoulder. He could feel his smile and hear the giggles, and it was almost as if he was blinded by another flash of the camera.

"... You could say that." Without a word, Jorge took the picture from his hands and set it back on the small stand in the corner of the living room. When he turned back around, it was to Caleb already sitting on the couch. "If you're hungry, eat dry cereal. Bathroom's the door right ahead when you turn this corner."

Jorge moved back towards his room, willing his body to make it far enough to rest on his mattress. A glance at the knob of the front door showed it was locked, which let Jorge enter his room before shutting and locking the door behind him.

He'd save these problems for later.

*~*~*

_Calm down, Caleb. Get it together._

But he couldn't help it. He had goosebumps, the jitters, and practically everything else. So many thoughts ran through his head in a minute, it was like he was the smartest person in the freaking world!

He was threatened by the same guy he was supposed to sleep in an apartment with?! It was insane, and at first, it was obvious. His first thought was a firm and easy 'Heck no!'

As he looked out of the window, he had to wonder how long he had been awake. The snow seemed to never stop, always piling higher and higher. His thoughts drifted back to what Jorge said however long ago.

There was no way the police were going to kill him. They helped people, didn't they? It didn't make sense why he was so confident, though. They were gonna put up missing posters, call his family, do a sweep of the city, and find him. Maybe his older brother would come back to New York City and do it himself. That's how it was gonna be, right? He hoped so.

_Dad..._

He wanted to cry and scream and shout for him. He wanted to cry and cry and cry and never stop. But it wasn't that easy, and that's what scared him the most over everything else.

He wasn't crying, and he couldn't find an excuse no matter how hard he looked. Was it him? Was something wrong with him, and that's why he wasn't crying? Or maybe it was the voice whispering in the corner of his mind.

His dad wasn't a good person.

He ignored it, he blocked it out so hard. That wasn't it. It was just a random bad guy with a gun that decided they should die. It didn't help anything, but it was better than what the other thing implied.

Not wanting to go into the streets alone, Caleb turned away from the window and stopped his criss-cross position. Leaving a blanket under him and putting one over him, and using another as a pillow, Caleb closed his eyes and tried to think good thoughts.

He loved his dad, and his dad loved him back...

Right?

***~***


	2. New Beginnings (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Contains blood, use of weapons, endangerment of children, and nonchalant murder.

***~***

**_December 17th, 7:47 A.M._ **

The first thing he felt was pain.

With a small groan that erupted from his throat, Jorge opened his eyes to meet the left wall of his room staring at him. He moved his head to look at the small amounts of light peeking through the narrowed blinds with squinting eyes as his body screamed in protest against his movements. Ignoring it and knowing there was work to be done, Jorge put his palms against the bed and pushed himself up. Some of the blanket fell from his chest and down into his lap as the pain only became more clear.

"S-shit." He wasn't dead yet. Pushing away the mixed feelings he had about that fact, the raven-haired boy instinctively reached up at his neck. His bandana was missing, allowing him to rub at the left side of his neck where he knew the rose sat quietly. "Hngh-!"

Jorge three the blanket off of him and swung his legs to the left and off of the bed. Once his feet met the carpet, he immediately moved to stand in one quick motion. It didn't take the completed action for the sores he had around his body to fight against him all at once. It was the splitting headache that reminded him he couldn't waltz around so quickly, as if it had reprimanded his movements. With his usual practice, he ignored it in favor of making his way around the bed and reaching his bedroom door.

He stopped when he made it out of his room, looking towards the bathroom door with racing thoughts about whether the kid was even in the apartment anymore. Figuring to himself that he couldn't care less, he twisted the knob of the bathroom door and let himself in after flicking on the light.

Closing the door behind him, he immediately went towards the mirror that stood vigilant above the sink. When he gazed in the mirror, his almond eyes stared back at him with his own face. The scarred cuts and nicks across his features weren't as obvious as the new cuts and gashes he received last night. He wondered just how many times he stared at the same thing in the mirror.

Regardless, he knew it was time to start his day.

**~*~**

It didn't take long to freshen up.

After a quick shower that only barely offered him any relief from the sores he still felt, as well as changing into a new set of much cleaner clothes, he stepped out of his room ready to walk out the door. His black boots thumped against the floor with heavy steps as he adjusted the belt that tightened the jeans around his waist. He wanted to move towards the living room, but he hated to admit that he actually hesitated in the action. He stood still for a moment to tie his bandana around his neck in order to stall for any extra second he could.

The unsettling thought of the living room being vacant swept across his mind, even when he tried his best to ignore it. But, after reminding himself that none of it was his problem to begin with, he let out a huff of air with a frustrated look on his face. He turned left from his bedroom doorway and poked himself from behind the wall to peer ahead. A steady rise and fall of a body under the sheets on his couch took care of his doubts of the kid leaving.

Instead of bothering to check up on him, the older teenager moved towards the front door. He moved around the floor to ceiling column and took a left to enter the kitchen, a generally small space that almost made him feel trapped if it was any smaller. He knew there was barely anything in his kitchen to make stuff with, which was only reinforced when he found many of the cabinets and drawers empty. All he had was a quarter-full box of cereal on top of the fridge, a few water bottles inside his fridge, and a few cans of tomato sauce in all of his cabinets.

He would have to make do once again.

Grabbing a bowl from the plastic dish rack he had on the far corner of the kitchen counter, he set it down before reaching for the Apple Jacks. He poured half of what was left into it before closing the packaging and returning it to its old spot back on the fridge. Jorge grabbed the bowl and moved towards the living room. When he stopped a few feet away from the still-sleeping kid, the Crimson Blossom let out a huff of air from his nose.

He would've left him alone to keep sleeping, but there was no way in hell that Jorge was leaving him in his apartment while he went all around town busting his ass. Letting him stay would only reinforce the idea that any of this could work, which was the last thing the sore teenager wanted to entertain. After a few more moments of silence, he spoke.

"Kid." Nothing, like he expected. He moved closer towards him and nearly reached a hand out to touch him. He fought back the urge to get physical and did the best alternative. "Kid! Wake the fuck up!"

"Mmmmm." The kid let out a small groan of displeasure, muttering things that he couldn't quite understand. When Jorge kicked the couch with his boot, it seemed to do the trick. The kid moved around under the sheets, his muffled whispers continuing until he managed to take off the blanket from over his head. His eyes opened a few seconds later in a squint, and it didn't take long for his brown orbs to meet Jorge's own. "Not 'Kid'. Caleb."

"Right." He extended his arm and held out the bowl of cereal, silent the entire time. The kid's eyes widened before he started rubbing at one of them as he moved to sit up. A few moments later, and Caleb was staring at the bowl absently. It was like he was barely given any cereal with the way he was looking at it. "My arm's gettin' tired."

"Oh, um…" Hesitantly, as if he was afraid that he was doing something wrong, he slowly cupped his hands around the bowl. Jorge looked at him, practically studied him, as he did this. Something wasn't right. "A-are you sure I can-!"

"Just take the fuckin' bowl, kid." He let go of the bowl, letting the younger teenager hold the bowl on his own. He moved to turn around, but the kid reached out a hand that landed on his bare forearm. He yanked it back and sent a glare towards the sheepish boy who looked like he got caught in headlights. "The fuck do you think you're doin'?"

"S-sorry! I was just…" The kid's voice faded, as if he wanted to say something but let it go. Jorge figured it was some mushy shit he had no interest in. There was no way that he'd- "What about you?"

Any negative thoughts vanished for a moment as his scowl eased into a questioning one with a raised eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

"..." He wanted to eat more than anything, but he knew there'd be time to eat later. After he got rid of the current thorn in his side and could sleep in for an extra hour at Zara's place. Speaking of, he knew he'd have to give her a call in a few to let her know he was alright. "Eat up or shut up. You talk too much"

"I just don't feel good about eating your stuff." Jorge gave a shrug of his shoulders as he put a hand in his pocket. He was getting sick of looking at the kid's pathetic faces. It did a good job of making him feel like shit, which wasn't new. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"If I did, you wouldn't be eatin'." It was a simple truth, but a look of fear crossed the kid's face after he said it. The Crimson Blossom ignored the look in favor of turning around and heading back towards his room to give Zara that call. "And get ready. You're comin' out with me after I'm done."

"H-huh?! Wait!"

Jorge made sure to shut the door loudly behind him, ending the conversation with the door giving a fairly loud slam. It didn't take long for him to grab the flip phone off of his night stand next to his bed. He opened it up, tapping away the missed call notifications as he hurriedly dialed Zara's number. The teenager out the phone against his ear and waited patiently. It was only the second ring when she answered.

_"H-hello?"_

Within an instant, Jorge felt something cold stab at his heart when she whispered to him. Worst of all was that, if he knew one thing, it also sounded like she was in pain. It was something that seemed to make the hairs on his arms stand to attention.

"You okay? Somethin' wrong?"

_"Y-yes, I just…"_ Silence took over for a few moments as he anticipated what her next words were going to be. She could've been attacked and was being held hostage. She could've been out and dying in the streets with nobody to help. She could've- _"I'm just h-having cramps."_

"... Cramps?" It took a second or so for it to dawn on him just what she meant, and it didn't take long for his face to get a few degrees warmer. He did his best to ignore it. "Why are you so quiet?"

_"Me and Corolla were sleeping on the couch. She's right next to me."_ Jorge looked at his sheets debating whether or not he believed her. But, figuring that they wouldn't get anywhere by arguing from it, Jorge let it go with a small huff of air he was sure Zara didn't hear. _"Listen, I have to go. See you tonight?"_

"Got a mission tonight. Tomorrow for sure." Silence met him again, and he was about to respond once again before she cut him off in a hurried voice.

_"Good enough for me. Love you, Brooklyn."_

"Stop callin' me that." He stopped for a second contemplating whether he should ask whether she was fine or not one more time. He decided against it despite himself. "See you when I see you."

He hung up the phone.

***~*~***

**_8:03 A.M._ **

_"Stop callin' me that."_ His near-gravelly voice offered comfort as it reached her left ear while she shut her eyes in a painful squint. A beat of silence passed that almost made her wonder if she had lost the call. Right before she looked to check, she heard him again. _"See you when I see you."_

She heard him hang up the phone.

The teenage girl let out a heavy breath from inside of the slightly blood-smeared and body-littered room. The assortment of gang members had a rise and fall to their chests, relieving Zara of her worries about killing another. They were all alive and well, and she felt as if she wouldn't be able to tell that the blood didn't belong to any of them had she not been going through hell.

Zara winced as she felt the lone stab wound in her side spread pain throughout her entire upper body, the Crimson fluid spilling out being mostly covered by the palm of her right hand. There was so much pain, and she had no means of patching herself up. On the bright side, the stab wouldn't didn't seem that deep and wasn't too thick either. She had a chance to make it.

Slowly, with heavy breaths, she moved her hand up to grab a nearby chair. As Zara set her hand on the wooden seat, the teenage girl did her best to raise herself up into a standing position. With a barely-contained cry of agony, she fell back against the wall and onto the floor once again. When every fibre of her being made it difficult to move, it was a surprise she didn't pass out yet. But Zara knew that if she did, she was going to die.

So instead of letting the pain stop her, she once again moved her left hand to the wooden chair as her right hand stayed against her stab wound. The Crimson Blossom wanted to scream out in pain, but managed to lower it to just a few small whimpers of pain. Her vision blurred for a moment as she managed to move and sit down on the chair her hand was previously on. With a good position on her side, she managed to stand up before nearly falling forward. She caught herself with her left hand on the table as she fiercely shut her eyes.

_Think about Corolla. About Jorge. You can't die here._

It was the truth, a warm comfort despite the terrible situation she found herself in. Faintly, aside from her own breathing, she could hear the spinning of helicopter blades. She only hoped that backup was going to arrive soon, but Zara knew she still had a job to be done. With a bite of the tongue, she stood as straight as she could. Another second later, and she picked up the lead pipe she had used against the now-unconscious goons in the room with her. Despite her non-lethal measures, a fair amount of blood still dripped from the cold and rusted metal.

Her side burned and stung at the same time, the area practically begging for a break from the physical activity she was doing. Here she was, walking around a Royal Cardinal base with a detrimental wound that made it hard to even focus. Almost blindly, Zara moved from the center of the room to the open doorway. With a quick peek left and right down the vacant business building-like hallways, she put her shoulder against the doorway as she clenched onto the lead pipe with her left hand as if it were a lifeline. With the info she got, she knew she was getting close to finding just what she was after.

A painful shout made her halt any movement.

She heard what seemed to be arguing coming from down the hall, but she was unsure if they were really that far away or of her hearing was going out. She could barely see straight, could barely tell which way was left and right, and she knew that she'd have to move fast whether her body liked it or not. It was that determination, Zara reckoned, that made it all so easy to deal with Jorge's shit. She would have laughed if it wouldn't hurt her, or if she couldn't get killed for being found.

So, instead, Zara did her best to keep a hand on her injury as she let her right shoulder support the majority of her weight as she ventured down the hall. She could see the light from the singular open door directly ahead, and it seemed to make her head pound even harder. She kept moving.

"Fuck! How the hell did Logan get you in there?!"

"N-no! Leave me alone!"

"Shut it, brat!"

The two voices kept her grounded in reality. The aggressive tone that was carried from the deeper voice was uninteresting at best. What made her really snap to attention was the second, much younger voice that met her ears. He was scared, alone with nobody but people that wanted to hurt him. Above anything else, he probably wanted to get out of that place. Perfecto.

As Zara neared the door, she nearly squinted her eyes shut to avoid any further headaches from the sharp contrast of light. The sounds of a struggle were getting more apparent with each step she took forward. It room several cautious steps, but Zara slowly moved her body to gently lean on the doorframe as quietly as she could while the teenager also peered inside the room.

It was a displeasing sight.

Whatever happened here left one man lying on the ground, a puddle of crimson around his head that must've come from a bullet hole. She wanted to grieve for the poor soul that lost their life, but she knew that dwelling on it would kill her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a heavy and deep shout resonated throughout the room. Zara pushed past the pain to look towards where the sound originated from, and her eyes widened enough that it only made her head hurt more.

The larger form lunged forwards towards the smaller one, the one that she recognized as her target, and stopped any sounds of protest by beginning to wring his neck with his back facing her. They fell to the ground, with the man kneeling down to continue his assault in front of a small broom closet. His cries and please died in his throat and, in the small scuffle, his eyes looked past the man and towards her. Time almost seemed to slow down as she saw the struggle he had in prying the encircling hands off of him.

She knew what to do.

As quietly as Zara was able, with blood pumping and nerves jittering, she too careful and measured steps towards them. The lead pipe felt heavy in her hand, heavier than it had felt for the last ten minutes she had it in her hand. Then, as she stood right behind him, Zara removed her right hand from her side to hold the weapon like a baseball bat. Then, with as much energy as she had left, the teenage girl swung as hard as she could physically allow herself to as she aimed directly at the back of his head.

There was no sickening crunch that she expected, just a loud thud before he fell forward in a collapsed heap. There was silence at first, but it was in stark contrast to many of those she had before. It wasn't the silence to be enjoyed, such as when she slept side-by-side with her sister or Jorge. It was one that might as well have been the calm before the storm. She knew just how different types of silence plagued the air around her, and it felt _wrong._

Then, after several long moments of that very silence, came the heavy breathing. It had come from her at first, the fatigue threatening to take hold of her once again. Not even a second later, and she heard the pained coughs that came from her target in a rapid-fire order. She saw him struggling to lift the man off of him, and managed to at least help him squeeze out from under him with her boot moving the unconscious man. When the boy managed to wiggle his way out, the first thing he did was put a hand on his throat as he started rubbing at it.

"Hola niño pequeño." She knew what it looked like. A teenage girl with a bun, splattered in blood and wielding a bloody pipe like she had come from a horror movie. Despite it all, Zara did her best to give him a friendly smile. She hoped the next thing she said would really help her case. "I've come to get you out of here… Can you stand?"

His coughs continued as he put his mouth towards the bend of his elbow to avoid coughing on her. As he looked up, Zara was almost heartbroken by the sheer emotion he had in his eyes all at once, and knew she felt guilt and regret in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't proud of anything that she had to do here, but she didn't have much of a choice. As much as she wanted to do the right thing… Her will to live was far greater.

"... C-can you?" It wasn't the response she expected from someone who was seconds away from being strangled, but it eased her nerves enough to allow Zara to let out a surprised laugh. He seemed to almost want to join her, but she could see the fear that he had tried hard to push back with a nervous smile.

"Not for much longer." She moved her right hand to cover her wound once again, and his eyes followed to see the unpleasant sight. With her left arm, Zara extended out her hand for him to grab onto. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but the boy took it and did most of the work of getting to his feet. "We need to get to the roof."

"How? We can't just jump off of it!" She hoped it wouldn't come to that, but she was preparing for the worst. She wouldn't put it past them to leave her hanging once again. "A-and those guys! I think they want to keep me here!"

"We just need to get to the roof, niñito. I have back-up."

It was the first time Zara properly looked him over within these first few moments of meeting him. His brown hair stood whichever way from the ruined angular fringe, his brown eyes looking up at her due to several inches that were in between their heights. It didn't take long to see that the information she received on him lined up with what the teenage girl actually saw. Zara hefted a sigh as she turned to move towards the door next to them before-

The Crimson Blossom stopped in her tracks.

The sound of shouts and myriad of footsteps met her ears, a distant thing that came from the bottom of the large stairwell in the door across from her. But Zara knew that in the next few minutes, those footsteps would reach them. With the way the boy tensed, she knew that he heard it as well. She turned towards him, her eyes filled with a sense of determination. She spoke. "That's them."

"W-what do-!" Zara didn't let him finish that sentence before she grabbed his arm and did her best to shove him towards the opposite door. "Wait! They're in there!"

"Go up the stairs to the roof! I'll be right behind you!"

Apparently, that was all he needed. She saw him twist the doorknob with fumbling hands, and she saw him flinch the moment he did. The footsteps and voices talking over each other, but his stupor was remedied by her coming from behind him and giving him a push forward. When they finally started to move after the door closed with a loud slam behind them, she knew the race against their deaths began.

The fierce tearing of her flesh with every step she skipped was downright unbearable, so unbearable that her eyes started to water as she finished her first flight. The boy was quick for someone his age, his legs a hectic but efficient blur of movement in her teary eyes. One misstep was all it took for her to fall forward, a step digging into her skin right above her refresh wound. Mierda.

Zara couldn't tell if she had enough strength to force the scream from her throat. All she knew was that her resolve shattered at that very moment as she tumbled down the stairs amin front of a door. The moment the teenage girl moved her body, the more pain she put herself in. Her blurry vision only became worse, going in and out of darkness. It only stopped when, with a dull sense of feeling, she felt a small tug at her arms. It was hard to hear what he was saying. She couldn't understand him.

Her body protested as she felt arms hook from under her armpits. There was no way of her helping herself in this one. Zara had never felt such excruciating pain in her entire life. The pain made her feel like a living sore on the Earth, struggling to regain any strength she might've been able to muster when her body felt so heavy under its own weight.

She was so tired… Ella necesitaba dormir.

***~*~***

"M-miss! Please!"

The boy could see the rise and fall of her chest, but she seemed to doze off as he spoke to her. He tried shaking her, talking to her, but nothing worked. It was in his third attempt at shaking her that the lady closed her eyes and seemed to drop her weight onto his arms. There wasn't much time left with how close they seemed to be getting from the sound of their footsteps. There was no way he could best them up the stairs, and he didn't want to leave someone who saved him!

His heart was beating too fast. He knew had to calm down or else his nerves would get the better of him. He had to take a deep breath, and just focus… But everything seemed to be going by too fast for him! He couldn't fight back against so many people! All he could do was run or… Hide.

They didn't have enough time to run with his savior out of consciousness, he was sure of it. With no other option, he opened the door as wide as it could until it met the wall. He kept it there with his boot as he tried to drag her out of the stairwell by her arms. When the footsteps started to get louder, he panicked and let the door begin to close as he moved to drag her by both arms. With deep grunts, the boy barely managed to drag her into the dim hallway before leaping to catch the door before it slammed shut. Slowly, he let the door silently close and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

He wasn't going to have enough time to do anything, he knew it. But he had to try and do something, or do anything, or else he wouldn't see his mom again. He'd leave her behind, just like everybody else left- No. He had to breathe and stay focused. Without wasting any more time, he grabbed the woman by the sleeves of her leather jacket. As he tried to heave her away from danger, there was nothing he focused on except getting her into the closest room possible. When he got close enough, he set her arms down and turned to face the door. With sweaty and blood-covered hands, he fumbled with the doorknob until it opened.

The amount of discomfort he felt when staring into a small janitor's closet was something he couldn't just ignore. He stopped for a moment as he stared at the near-pitch black room, but he bit down on his lip before realizing that he had no choice. Once more, fighting against the aching back at dragging the dead weight around, the boy bent down to grab her sleeves and dragged her into the closet. With only a slight hesitation, he closed the door with his foot and snuffed the light that danced along the edges of the darkness in an instant. Dropping her almost instantly in fright, he fumbled to see if there was a sort of lock. A twist of a small shape on the center of the knob gave him all he needed to lock themselves in.

The darkness was always scary.

He stood there, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead from a mix of exhaustion and nervousness, and tried to hold back the heavy breaths his body wanted to exhale. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but there was nothing he could do to try and help his situation. As he slowly lowered himself to sit down near the door, he knew there was nothing to stop them from coming in here and… Killing them.

He didn't want to die, he knew that much, but it was so hard to see a way out of what he was in. If the lady was awake, he knew it would be a lot different. But she wasn't, and that's what was going to kill him if anything. There was a sense of powerlessness that he didn't want to experience with being stuck in a closet with his only chance of help bleeding away on the- Wait… She was bleeding!

With a start, he moved to put a hand on where he figured her stomach was. When he hit the fabric of jeans and felt a knee, Hunter moved his hand far upwards and set it on her jacket. Moving his hand farther from him revealed the unzipped leather jacket, and keeping his hand still let him feel the slow rise and fall of her stomach. It was a slow trance, something that seemed to ease his nerves in a weird way. It was likely the reassurance that she was alive and well.

He snapped out of it, moving the left side of the jacket away so he could move his hand. In one moment, his right hand met something really damp. It didn't take much to realize what it was, and the boy had to try his best to not let out a scream. There was so much and oh God how could somebody be losing this much blood and-

Deep breaths, that's what he needed.

In the silence, he steadied his breathing and gave a small sigh. He was so hurt and tired, but here he was trying to save the day. He didn't want to question things in the silence of the closet, but the questions came anyways. Would he make out to see his mom again? Would the lady he's trying to help be alright? Would all of that be for nothing? Was it so wrong to have hope in a spot where there didn't seem to be any left?

All of that shattered when, in a single moment, bullets and screams came from the stairwell that he was in just a few minutes ago. His heart skipped a beat before pounding furiously against his chest, a cold sweat hitting him in seconds. In all of his fourteen years if living, he had never heard such terrible screams of pain and horror. It was only made worse by the stairwell door not twenty feet away from them being slammed open with a heavy thud. Whether it was by a shooter, or by somebody who tried to get away, it didn't matter much.

It only made the screams more clear.

"Argh! You're dead, you _hear me?!_ Dead!"

There was a split second where he almost brought his hand up to his mouth, up until he felt the sticky liquid between his fingers that reminded him it was likely best not to move at all. So he stayed there, hands on where he thought her wound might've been, and kept as still as possible. Even as he tried to get even breaths to come from his nose, the fear that rose threw it off-balance. Gunshots rang in his ear, not stopping until he was sure that it could've killed somebody ten times over.

"Fuckin' bitches!" The amount of hate in the deep, muffled voice made his skin crawl with anxiety. He didn't know how somebody could sound so disgusted. "Ones and twos, search this floor! The rest of you, after them!"

A stampede of footsteps came down the hall not moments later, and he had to hold his breath to make sure he didn't make any noise. There was no light under the door him to look at, and no way he could know if there was any place around him to hide. When they continued in a chaotic beat, he would've thanked a God if he believed in one. Yet, despite his silence and lack of movement, he tensed when a lone pair of footsteps made this against the ground. It came closer, closer, even closer, and the boy hoped they would keep going. Instead, they stopped right in front of the door and didn't move.

When the door handle turned, his heart dropped.

In an instant, the previously dark room was flooded with light that caused him to flinch back and block it with his bloodied hand. When he moved it away, he stared at the hulking giant of a man. What little skin he could see was around his sharp and glaring eyes, as a face mask covered the rest of it while thick clothing and gloves took care of everything else. What caught his eye immediately after the inspection was a machine gun. After he realized that it was pointed at him, the boy practically leaped back and stuck his hands in the air.

"Don't fucking move!" He was too shocked to speak as his heart beat like a pair of drums. The man took a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at him before turning it on. He was blinded once again, which stopped after the flashlight landed on his hero. He wasn't sure what the man mumbled under his breath at the sight. "We've found Zara and her HVT! I repeat, we've found Zara and the High Value Target!"

… High Value Target?

***~*~***

Zara opened her eyes to snow falling from the stormy grey clouds above. That's when the skin-biting cold hit her, when the awful stinging in her side hit harder, and when she heard the shouts from around her in a blur of noise. With a terrible groan, she barely managed to move her upper body before a strong set of hands held her down. The teenager didn't have enough energy to fight against it with anything more than a weak struggle.

¿Q-qué esta pasando? I need-"

"Cool it, girlie. I've done my best to give you stitches, but they won't hold if you keep moving." She heard him coming from somewhere up above as she lay on the cold concrete, but she couldn't bother to look at him. All she could do was comply. "Well… at least you listen. Can't say the same for the boy."

It all came back to her in a flash.

"W-whe-where is he?!" She struggled harder against the hands that held her down, which only aggravated her side further. "Where-!"

"I fucking take it back." It was a deadpan tone, one that she might've even laughed at had the circumstances been different. Instead, it only furthered her aggravation towards being unable to even sit up properly. "Somebody get him over here!"

It only took seconds before she heard quick footsteps ran over towards her from her right. She moved her head as much as she could, but it was worth it. The teenager saw the boy kneeling down in front of her before she scanned her head across the rooftop. Crimson were everywhere, be it looking down into the street or guarding the doorway that led into the building. The hands that pressed her down released their hold as her head turned to face the boy once again, and the fear written across his face made her heart strain in guilt and sadness.

"Y-you're okay! Oh my god, I was so worried that you were going to die!" Zara moved her arm in a sluggish motion, and clumsily gripped his hand in hers. She didn't miss the blood that painted his palms when their fingers locked. "I was really worried, but these guys know you! They called you Zara, and they all have guns, and I can't even-!"

"Please… Be quiet." Zara gave the plea as she shuts her eyes tightly and made a face that she was sure described her pain. She squeezed his hand a little tighter than before as she opened her eyes, and the look of concern on his face was as obvious as ever. "Head still hurts."

He spoke in a softer tone, one that made her appreciate the effort put into it. "I-I'm sorry."

"You saved me." It was a simple statement, one that made his look of worry turn into one of… it must've been pride, as hidden as it may have been. What ran through her head next was as insane as any other passing thought she had when involving the disregard of her orders. Yet this was different, one that she might've been crazy enough to follow up on. "I… What's your name?"

"H-Hunter." When she gave him a meaningful look, he was quick to stutter out another response with a bashful look. "H-Hunter Nussbaum."

"Hunter Nussbaum." The teenager let her head fall back as she kept a firm grip on his hand. Despite all of the things in her mind telling her what she was thinking was a bad idea, she knew there was no stopping herself anymore. "Thank you."

Whether he was forcefully ushered away or he moved on his own, she felt his hand slip from her own as all of the noises around her further increased the pain from her headache. Zara prayed to her merciful God that she remembered his name when she came to, because there was no way she would let him go through what she had. As the Crimson Blossom shut her eyes to let unconsciousness sweep in, her heart called out to her one final time. History would not repeat itself with Hunter Nussbaum.

Zara wouldn't let it happen again.

***~*~***

**_8:14 A.M._ **

The streets of the Rotten Apple were never kind.

Jorge adjusted the bandana around his neck with a nimble finger, his eyes narrowed as he looked out into the swarms of people going one way or another. He, too, moved within the flow of people that scurried about their grim business. He kept his right side facing towards the structures he passed with little room for a person to squeeze by, a minor layer of security to ensure he wasn't easily surrounded. But that wasn't what had him on-edge. "Please slow down!"

"..." Jorge ignored the request, keeping his legs at a hurried pace despite pleads for otherwise. The last thing he needed on one of these ventures was attention being drawn to him, so he refused to look behind him. Yet the boy, Caleb, had other plans in mind. With the miniscule amount of space that was offered between him and the walls, the smaller boy managed to fit into it as if it were his spot to be beside him. The Crimson Blossom spared him a small glance and noticed the way the boy had to walk at a brisk pace to keep up. "Don't go shoutin' around, kid. Less noise you make, the better it is for everyone around you."

"I-I just wanted you to slow down a little!" He gave a soft shake of his head, so soft that he was sure nobody in the bustling crowd he was apart of could see it. Whether it was to make noise over the wind or because he just felt as if it needed to be said, Caleb continued. "It's so c-cold! Doesn't it bother you?"

"No." He had hoped that short and curt responses, ones that were as chilling as the air around them, would dissuade the boy's seemingly constant need for chatter. It didn't. "Keep up."

Their walk continued in silence, which was a welcome change of pace in comparison to the kid's constant need for chit chat. Instead of focusing on the many thoughts that plagued him, he focused on the snow that fell from the clouds. When that no longer kept him occupied, he focused on how often he took a breath of the freezing winter air. When that too failed to stop his racing mind, he looked towards his right to see the kid struggling to keep up with him. Their eyes met for a moment, but it was already too late by the time Jorge looked away.

"Do you like the snow?" The question struck him as random, but he wasn't sure what else to expect from a kid like that. "I do. It looks pretty."

"No, I don't." He didn't look back to see the kid's reaction to his short answer, but the sigh he gave made it audible that he was disappointed by it.

"How about Fall?" Autumn was a season that many adored for it's scenery, or at least that's what many told him. After a second of contemplating, he spoke again. "Fall is also really pretty."

"Yes."

"Wow, you actually like something?"

"I like it when you keep up."

"I'm not as tall as you!"

"Then walk faster."

"I'm trying!"

"And be quiet. Last thing I fuckin' need is attention."

"F-fine." With that, he prayed that their walk continued in silence. He turned sharply to the right, cutting through an alley that he knew would shave off a few minutes from his walk. The pure white of the snow turned to tainted browns and grays as he navigated through the disgusting stretch. Just as he expected, the footsteps were eager to follow after him. It was when he was halfway through the alleyway that the footsteps behind him stopped, but he kept going. "H-hey… Hey!"

Jorge slowed down before he stopped fully as he let out a breath that trailed through the cold air in front of him in a foggy mist. He turned halfway and turned his head the rest of the way to look on as Caleb looked down at something. With a raised brow, the teenager turned fully with his hands shoved in his pocket. "Kid. What're you doin'? You gawkin' at a box?"

"Sir!" … The kid seemed to be trying to talk to somebody, and that put his nerves on edge. With another huff of air, Jorge inched closer to the boy as he continued to speak. "Hello…? Sir?"

"Kid. Get away from 'im."

"B-but he's… He's… Oh my gosh!" There was a small moment where he thought the kid was gonna scream, but there was instead a dreaded silence that hung over them as Jorge approached his position. He only stopped when he could get just as good of a look. "I… I think… I think he's…"

"Dead." An old man with a graying beard and no hair stared blankly out into the street where they first entered the alley. His thin jacket and torn pants offered little to no protection against the cold, and he could see the end of his fingers that turned purple. His lips fared no better in the battle that he ultimately lost. "Nothin' we can do about it now, kid."

Jorge gave his head a small shake, but turned his body to face the end of the alley he had almost exited a minute ago. He took a few steps forward, but no footsteps followed him. The Crimson Blossom turned his head and looked towards the kid, who still gazed at the lifeless corpse. "We can't j-just… Leave him!"

"Yeah. We can." The Crimson Blossom hoped that there was enough finality in his voice to make the younger male finally relent, but all it did was cause the kid to glare daggers at him. "You got money for a funeral? You knew his family?"

"No, b-but-"

"Then it doesn't matter. We gotta-"

"It _does_ matter!" The shout carried through the wind and across the alleyway, bouncing off the walls and causing several people to stare at them as they walked by. He was grabbing too much attention, which caused the older teenager to take action. "You're a monster! You think dead people on the streets is no big deal! You think-!"

Jorge grabbed him by the throat, hovering over him by half a foot as he brought him close. The choking sounds that came from the boy were ignored as he narrowed his eyes at the terrified face. The kid's arms reached up to grab his own as he moved them several feet from the body and almost directly in the middle of the alley, the resistance from him being weak. Then, without a second thought, Jorge slammed him into the wall back-first.

It took all of his restraint to not hurt him anymore than squeezing a little harder as choked sounds came from his throat. He rolled back his shoulders, standing at his full height, as the kid stopped struggling against his hold and instead focused on attempting to breathe despite Jorge blocking his ability to do so.

"Don't ever talk like you know me, got it?" The kid, eyes as wide as dinner plates that showed fear, simply gave a rapid-fire nod. He was losing air from his lungs, and it wouldn't take Jorge long to knock him out. Jorge continued. "People mind their own fuckin' business in this city. They don't look out for one another unless it benefits 'em, and only make a scene if they wanna get pumped fulla lead. You keep your opinions to yourself, you keep movin', and you shut your fuckin' mouth. You hear me?"

Another nod, and Jorge kept his vice grip on his neck for just a few moments longer. Jorge let him go and listened intently as the kid gasped desperately for air that was deprived from his lungs. And, for once, the kid finally stopped speaking. It was nearly a blissful moment, but hearing the noises coming from the kid dampened it. A few more moments and the boy would've been casket-ready.

"Why..." A nasty cough came from the boy, one that reminded him of a time where he could barely speak because of a lack of water. The memory wasn't welcome, and was quickly pushed aside as he focused on the watery brown eyes that looked up at him as the kid put his hands on his knees. "Why did you do that?"

"..." Jorge looked towards the end of the alley that he would lead him on the right track to his destination. With a scowl, he looked back at the kid as he finally managed to stand up straight and rub a hand against his throat. He could see the tears forming in his eyes from the pain. "I'm leavin' you here."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're… W-what?"

"I'm done playin' this game, kid." Jorge looked on as the boy, at first, didn't react. It seemed to dawn on him a few seconds later, as his eyes snapped to meet Jorge's own with furrowed brows. "I ain't a maid. You aren't my mess to deal with."

"T-that's why you brought me out here." The kid was more perceptive than Jorge gave him credit for, he'd admit that much. "You were trying to get rid of me."

"I ain't trying. I am gettin' rid of you." Jorge tried to move forward, but Caleb practically leaped into his path. The tears that were formed from the pain of getting a small beating threatened to spill from his face, and he was sure it was no longer from the pain of his throat. "Get outta the way, kid."

"I… I'm begging you!" The moment the kid dropped to his knees was the moment the Crimson Blossom realized that it was literal. The tears were trailing down his face, which spoke just how desperate he was far greater than his words ever could. "Please! Don't leave me here, n-not by myself!"

"I choked you."

"You _saved_ me!"

"I don't got nothin' to give, kid." It was the truth. Jorge had barely supported himself for such a long time, and another person was something he knew he just couldn't handle. "I can't-"

"I don't need anything from you! I-I swear!" There was nothing Jorge could do to get past him without getting physical, something that he didn't want to resort to again so soon with a crying boy at his feet. "I don't need your food!"

"I'm not lettin' a kid starve in my place, and I don't got money for two." There was a moment where Caleb choked on a sound, something that sounded like a son, before he cried harder. "Sorry."

"P-please!" It was less of a coherent word and more of a wall, a cry for help that Jorge just couldn't give him. But he was asking the same person who nearly beat him minutes ago. This was desperation. "D-d-don't go!"

Jorge positioned himself for a kick, one that he was sure he'd regret later on. The kid, who's head drooped down to face the ground, didn't react to the movement. "I'm not askin' you again."

"I w-wish my b-big brother was here!" The anger sapped out of him in an instant and made it feel like his legs turned to jelly. With a few rapid blinks, Jorge stated at the boy as he continued in a whisper. "I wouldn't be here if he was."

Echoes rang in his head, something familiar that he nearly couldn't stand the feeling of thinking about again. The words that the kid said were nearly identical to words that were spoken so long ago, in a winter so similar yet so different to the one he found himself in once he jolted out of his memories. Had it been anything else, there would've been no hesitation in the act that was supposed to come next. Instead, as hard as he wanted to deny it, his mind processed the words.

Jorge had thought the same thing many times before.

The teenage gang member moved his right leg back next to his left and stared down at the kid for just a little longer. It was when he thought about how pathetic it all seemed that the older boy realized the sad truth. The kid groveling at his feet wasn't the only mess of a human being in the alleyway they were in, whether he wanted to admit it or not. So, like the mess he was, Jorge decided to slowly crouch down in front of him.

There were a million reasons that floated through his head as to why he should run. As to why he should leave that alleyway and never look back at the giant sobbing mess in front of him alongside the dead man who caused it. Despite every single one of those reasons having validity, something else called out to him in defiance of all that was logic. It guided his hand to rest on the kid's shoulder.

The kid looked from the ground, raised his head slowly, and had his brown orbs meet Jorge's own. Just as slowly, Caleb reached his hand up to grab onto his extended arm softly. No words were spoken between them, and he was sure there didn't need to be as snowflakes drifted between them. With a sigh, Jorge wished he didn't already think about what he was doing next. "... C'mon. Get up, kid"

"I-I'm s-s-sorry."

"I know, Caleb."

As Jorge grabbed his sleeve and slowly stood, his grip gave Caleb little choice but to rise from his knees and stand as well. There was still a chance to leave all of these issues in the cold, to keep them out, and it was such a tempting thing to think about acting upon. But he knew he gave up his chance to let it go that easy, and really, he knew it was all a mistake. But as Jorge led Caleb out of the alleyway, hearing nothing but soft "thank you"s and mutters of appreciation, he ignored the positive thoughts too.

He tried to remind himself he wasn't a good person.

***~***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Chapter 2 a success? I hope your answer is a big fat _yes!_ But if it's a big fat no, then I'm afraid you aren't invited to my cool kids party. Population: Me.
> 
> See you all next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully my first ever posted fanfic is worth the read. Only time will tell, hm?


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